


Anne Lister's Little Red Book

by TKlounge



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Authentic Wife Argument, Domestic Ann(e)s, Domestic Fluff, Erotic Literature, F/F, Naughty Milk Maids, Stone Butch, ambiguous ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 09:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TKlounge/pseuds/TKlounge
Summary: The discovery of a small red book from France causes a stir in the newlywed lives of Anne and Ann.
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 138





	1. Push

“You shouldn’t have been in my study to begin with!” Anne snapped. “There’s nothing to concern you there!” Her cheeks were flushed and her mouth a straight line. 

“I’m not to be concerned about our land, OUR money, OUR fortune?” retorted Ann, sticking her chin out stubbornly. “If Shibden is to be our home-“

“It is our home!”

“The workmen asked your father about the plans you had drawn up for the expansion and you were out! I told him I’d look for them on your desk, that’s all. And now you’re shouting at me.” 

Anne moved a seemingly random pile of papers from her desk and pulled out a neat packet from the bottom.“They’re here.” She said sharply. “Go and bring them to him quickly before the whole house hears us arguing.” She thrust the papers into Ann’s hand and turned back towards the desk, stacking books and shuffling debris, pointedly not meeting her eyes. 

Ann did as she was bid and started out, nearly hitting Hemmingway with the door in the process. Hemmingway had a tray with a teacup in her hands and the guilty look of someone caught evesdropping on her face. Ann couldn’t bring herself to care to much at that moment. “Take these to Captain Lister please. Right away. I’ll take the tea.” She did a brisk exchange of the papers and the tray and turned heel back into Anne’s study, ready to continue their conversation anew.

“There was nothing in that drawer but an old book anyway. What could possibly be so secret about a book?”

Anne paused at her work. She’d managed to tidy up quite a bit in the few seconds Ann was gone. The desktop was mostly clear, the papers organized into stacks. Her hand lingered protectively over the bottom right drawer as Ann squeezed past. Thumping the tea tray on the newly cleared desk, she moved Anne’s hand and yanked the drawer open. When she looked inside she found it quite empty. 

Ann turned to see her wife’s face, still flushed bright pink, was not angry as she feared. Instead of her usual direct glance, Anne was staring at the floor in apparent shame.

“I’ve embarrassed you,” Ann said in an accusing tone . “I’ve embarrassed you and that’s why you got so cross.”

Anne glowered, looking at the empty drawer as if she wanted to disappear. “No, I-“

“Was it one of your diaries then? A piece of writing from Miss Norcliff or Mrs Lawson that was too personal to share? I’m not going to excavate through your past when I know you don’t want me to. I’m not a monster.”

Anne was still uncharteristically silent, still listlessly moving things around on her desk.

“Kindly do tell me where I am and am not allowed to go, what I am allowed to look at next time. I don’t fancy being shouted at in my own home.” 

Ann turned, grabbing her basket of mending as she did. “I’m going downstairs now, if that’s fine with you. I’ll see you at supper.”

She spent the next few hours downstairs with Marian and Aunt Ann , catching up on her mending and making small talk with the ladies. She knew that Anne would not come downstairs for any length of time when Marian was there. The sisters could hardly be in the same room without fussing at each other and Anne was not inclined to spend the afternoons chatting when she could be reading or writing or working around the grounds. It was a cheap trick to be sure, to use Marian as a shield but an effective one.

Ann did not see Anne again until it was time for supper. The hours of separation had not repaired the mood one bit. Anne came downstairs with an overly chipper smile to join them at the table. She dished Ann the best bits of meat and poured her a glass of sherry, both of which sat untouched. 

She spoke enthusiastically to her aunt and father about her expansion plans and even stayed scrupulously polite when Marian inquired about the cost. When Ann excused herself early, citing a headache, Anne did the same and followed her upstairs. Marian met Ann’s glance as they left and rolled her eyes in a show of solidarity. 

“I don’t want to quarrel,” Anne said as they reached the door to her bedroom. She opened it for her wife, allowing Ann to enter first. 

“I don’t want to quarrel either.”

They stood just inside the doorway, staring at each other. Ann kept her face cool, her expression measured. She waited for Anne to speak. 

“I shouldn’t have gotten cross. I know that you’ve been...remarkably understanding about my past. The truth of it is that I was embarrassed, just as you said.”

“What could embarrass you so?”

Anne tugged on Ann’s sleeve, pulling her gently towards the bedroom. She made sure the curtains were closed securely before kneeling by the bed. She reached behind the chamber pot to pull out a little red book, familiar to Ann as the one from the drawer that had caused all the trouble. 

“It’s from France...a silly thing. A wicked thing. I didn’t want you to see it. But I’d rather own up to it then have you think I was cross at you.”

She looked so miserable and contrite that Ann had to kiss her. She took Anne’s head in her hands and kissed the frown from her forehead, the downturned corners of her mouth.

“I didn’t want you to be confused or to think poorly of me for having it. It’s a book about...all the things two people can do together. In the bedroom.”

“A man and a woman?”

“Certainly not!” Anne with disgust. “It was given to me by a...friend that knew of my tastes. There are no men on its pages but...it's quite graphic.”

Ann tugged the book from her wife’s grip. “Let me see?”

Anne let go reluctantly and handed it over. The book was small, no bigger than her outstretched hand. The cover held no inscription. The flyleaf was marbled in shades of pink and inscribed simply “To my own Miss L- for the memory of a thousand kisses and the hope of a thousand more.” Ann opened to a random page.

“Oh!” She gasped at the illustration she found there. “Oh my!”

“Ann!” Anne tried to grab the book from her wife’s hands but missed as Ann stepped away, continuing to flip through the pages. 

“And stories too…” she mused. “In French and in English. I shall need some help translating the French I think. I don’t know some of these words.” She smirked a little at Anne, egging her on and wiggling her eyebrows. 

Anne strode forward and grabbed her wrist, finally getting a grip on the little red book.  
“No one is reading it. I’m burning it. What if the servants found it?” 

Ann moved along with the hand on her wrist, pulling herself closer to Anne’s body and draping her other arm around Anne’s neck. “I can see you’re upset.” She said gently. “I was only teasing. Come to bed with me, please? Leave the book.” 

Anne released Ann’s wrist and pulled her body close, throwing the offending book onto the bedside table. She began to cover Ann’s face and neck with kisses, walking them backwards toward the bed as she did. Ann’s bottom hit the bed first and she eased onto her back. Anne pulled herself on top, pinning Ann to the bed and pressing her lips to Ann’s freckled forehead. 

“I don’t like to think of my wife reading such trash.” Anne admitted in a whisper. “You’re so good. I won’t have you sullied that way.”

“It’s fine for me to be handled like this but not to read of it?” 

Anne trailed ever more insistent kisses down her neck. She sat up to remove her cravat, throwing it alongside the bedside table to join the book. She began to stroke at the silk of Ann’s stockings, and inch her hand up under white petticoats. Ann pulled her mouth away from Anne’s kisses to speak. “I’m not some innocent maiden, you know. I’m a married lady now. You could hardly shock me.”

Anne stopped her attentions, her hand stilling on Ann’s thigh, “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No” said Ann simply.

“Fine.” Anne said and stretched over her to grab the volume. “We can read it together at bedtime- once, before I really must burn it. You made such a fuss at dinner they won’t be expecting us down again tonight.” 

“I made a fuss?!?”


	2. Pull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... been a bit. In our defense, my wife is a medical worker in Minneapolis and she was the one mostly writing this, so it wasn't top priority. Life is surreal. Stay safe everyone.

Undressing, washing and nightly prayers had never before been done in such haste. By the time they had finished their nighttime ablutions and were laying together in bed in their chemises. Anne seemed to have warmed to the idea of sharing this special volume with her wife, so long as she was in control of its contents.

She lit the lamp, tucked Ann along her side and opened it with a teacherly air. “There are many such books one can find in Paris if one knows where to look. The French are a little more open minded about such things. A little more pragmatic about matters of the body.” Ann smirked at this, remembering her scandalized delight at hearing the story of the pocket holes. She snuggled closer into Anne’s side.

“There are several different authors of this particular tome. Nom de plumes I suppose I should say. I somehow don’t think Queeny Quim was the name given to this writer at birth. And although the subject matter is all ladies, I’m fairly certain a man wrote this one.” She turned to a story near the end of the book. 

“It’s all about two milk maids that find themselves stuck on a mountaintop in the Alps in foul weather. They spent the whole time talking about their husbands and about how poor a substitute it is to make love with each other.”

Ann peered at the accompanying illustration. Two women with pastoral braids and exaggeratedly huge breasts were depicted twined around each other in apparent ecstasy with a placid cow looking on. 

“They don’t seem to mind.” She observed. 

“Only a man would write a story about his wife moping over missing his...missing him.” Anne said scornfully. “Men! They’re so proud of themselves and the poor showing they have to offer.”  
She turned to another story, much earlier on in the book. “This one however, I think was possibly written by a woman. If not I believe this author has met a woman at least, unlike the other. Another set of lusty maids- seems to be a common theme. They’re embracing in the parlor while their mistress is out. The illustration at least is better.” 

It was better, with finer lines and softer faces on the women. More detail was put into the expressions on their faces and there was some delicate red shading on the apples of their cheeks and the peaks of their breasts. 

Ann reached forward to touch the page. “They look-“ Her hand brushed Anne’s as she moved and she felt Anne’s body stiffen next to her.

“Ah...there’s several chapters to this one. The maids get a little too comfortable in the parlor and the lady of the house finds them on the sofa.” she turned the page with a wistful sigh. “She scolds them quite harshly for soiling the upholstery.” 

There was another illustration to embellish this chapter one that made Ann squirm. The naughty maids were bent over on the sofa, legs spread, with their crying faces pressed into the cushions. Their bottoms were shaded the same rosy color as their cheeks. A handsome brunette woman with a stern face stood nearby wielding a cane. She looked so very much like her own wife that Ann found it impossible to look away. She nuzzled her face (which had grown very warm all of a sudden) into Anne’s shoulder.

“Do they really do such things?” She said wonderingly. “In France?”

Anne transferred the book into one hand and let the other hand drift down from Ann’s shoulder to her breast, lightly tracing the nipple through the thin fabric. “In my experience, no. But who really knows what goes on behind closed doors, hm?”

She pushed her face into blonde curls and whispered directly into Ann’s ear. “Shall I continue?”  
Ann wasn’t sure whether she meant continue with the story or continue with the touching. Either way the answer came immediately. “Please…”  
Anne’s hand began to move, grasping and rolling the nipple between her fingers as she continued. “They come out alright though, in the end.” Her long elegant finger traced the words as she read, smoothly translating from French to English.

“Please forgive us Madame! We were overcome- we’ll do anything! Annette ran her tongue up the crease of her mistresses thigh, nipping delicately at-“

Anne paused both her hand and her recitation. “Really dear, this isn’t too much for you?”

Ann whimpered in frustration. “You said we were going to read it! You can’t stop now.”

“It seems so crass when said out loud. I’m finding it quite…well.”

Ann squirmed in her wife’s arms, turning to gaze at Anne’s beet red face.“You rather like this don’t you?” Ann said. “Showing me these things gives you a little thrill.” 

She leaned up to kiss at Anne’s jawline. “I assure you I’m fine. More than fine. Continue.”

“You taste like honey Madame. I want to suck on your...uh. Honeypot, I think? Forever. Marie exclaimed in anger and jealousy as she looked on. Her hand worked madly at her ...flower.”  
Anne brought her hand to the collar of Ann’s nightshirt and slipped inside. She continued her touches on bare skin, making Ann sigh in pleasure. The next illustration was of the fair haired maid on her knees, mouth pressed between the legs of her mistress. The other maid laid back on the sofa with a hand between her own legs. The drawing was obscenely detailed, almost clinical in the way it showed every fold of her queer.

“Ah...And then it’s a lot of Yes Madame and Please Madam. They all reach their peak one way or another. And they promise to keep their lovemaking to the scullery from then on.” Anne pulled her hand away from Ann's chest making Ann whine which quickly turned into a gasp as Anne’s hand grazed her belly and landed on her bare thigh. Her fingers stroked there, teasing at the soft skin but going no further.

“You seem to know this story well.” Ann said breathlessly. “How many times have you read this book?” She squirmed under Anne’s hand, rolling her hips.

“Many.” Anne admitted. 

“Read me your favorite one then.”

Anne turned to a well worn portion, near the end. “It’s rather fanciful. A respectable gentlewoman out on a walk encounters a...forest spirit. A dryad? Some sort of wicked faerie.” 

Her hand slid to rest, very lightly, on the soft skin of Ann’s hip, her fingers working at the crease there. “The faerie tempts her into such sins, lays her down on a bed of moss and-”

“You are teasing me Anne. Read it properly.”

“The forest that morning was damp and glistening and still. Muriel strode into the glade where she knew the faerie lived with a fearsome purpose to her step. She was flushed, disturbed, unable to forget the passions of the day before. She could still feel those ghostly fingers inside her. She had thought of nothing else. Her own fingers were a poor substitute but passion seemed to be the only thing that summoned the creature. She laid down on a soft bed of moss and made herself bare from the waist down. The faerie had made her wanton, and she was not ashamed to be exposed so, only terribly excited. The morning breeze chilled her thighs as her hand reached down between her legs, finding herself already slick.” 

Anne paused in her reading and slid her hand from Ann’s hip. Her fingers slipped to Ann’s queer, trailing up and down her folds. She was pleased to feel that her Ann was as slick as the girl in the story

“Muriel’s hand worked furiously. Her fingers went to work, pressing and making obscene noises in the wetness of her cunt. She could not contain herself and a loud moan escaped her mouth, echoing in the silence of the glade. This, hopefully, would call the faerie to her again. Muriel felt herself tighten and grow even wetter. She held back from her peak, longing to be finished by her ethereal lover. Her eyes closed in anticipation as she was unable to control herself. All at once, Muriel found herself straddled by uncannily strong thighs. The faerie apperated on top of her, pressing her lithe form onto Muriel. One strong little hand grasped Muriel’s hair, the other forcing Muriel’s hand from her prize. “Mine!” shrieked the faerie. Her pointy face went sharp and a feral growl sounded in her chest. She set her teeth to Muriel’s neck against her collarbone.” 

Anne kept one hand holding tight to the book as her other began to circle around Anne’s clit. She fell into the rhythm she knew Ann needed, stroking and rubbing in earnest. She delighted at the beautiful noises Ann was making. She kissed Ann’s shoulder and nudged at it with her nose. How delightful that Ann seemed to be enjoying this as much as she was. 

“‘This is mine,’ stated the faerie plainly as she drew her fingers to Muriel’s entrance. Muriel whined as the digits she had so desperately desired and envisioned stopped short of the destination she craved. ‘Please,” begged Muriel as the bite went from soft to hard. The creature’s fangs pierced her skin as the monster’s fingers pierced Muriel’s soft place. ‘Always mine now,’ purred the faerie. ‘You belong to me.’

Her own fingers followed the same path, working themselves into Ann as she whimpered. Her middle finger first, stretching and wiggling. She soon added a second and curved her thumb around to continue stroking. Anne looked up from the book to see what effect that was having on her wife. Ann was flushed, her cheeks and neck and chest a bright pink. Her eyes were closed tight, and her mouth was open, panting. She looked so beautiful and so vulnerable that it made Ann feel bold. 

“I kept this in the chumerie, when it was first built. “ She admitted. “I kept in that carved end table and I’d sneak away and read it every chance I got.”

She pulled her fingers out, slowly, teasingly. To her great joy, Ann thrusted back onto her, impaling herself onto Anne’s fingers with a squeak. “What….would you do?” Ann whispered. “To yourself?” Her voice was wrecked, stuttering on each thrust. 

“What do you think?”

“I just want to hear...I want to hear about you touching yourself. You never...you don’t let me see that part of you. I want to hear about it.”

Anne’s thumb stopped moving for a moment. She continued reading as if she had not heard. 

“Fingers too long and delicate to be human speared Muriel deep inside. She was gloriously filled, stretched to her full capacity. She grunted and thrust, her vision hazy. She knew it was almost over for her and felt herself clench. The faerie moved then. She moved so quickly that she could not be seen. Her fingers remained in Muriel’s dripping cunt somehow, though her body twisted to lie on top of Muriel’s. Her legs parted on either side of Muriel’s head, exposing a cunt as wet as a river. The faeries tongue touched Muriel’s folds sending icy cold shivers down her spine as at last she was overcome.”

“Anne?”

“I was as brazen as Muriel over this book once. I’d spend whole afternoons in the chaumerie with my hand in my queer, peaking over and over. Is that what you want to hear?” 

Anne’s tone was uneven, hoarse and bothered. She sounded almost angry. She tossed the book onto the floor without ceremony. Her hand, now free, pushed her own chemise up to wrinkle around her stomach till her hips fit tightly against Ann’s bottom. They were pressed as tight as two spoons, thrusting and grinding. . Anne’s whole body became engaged in her movements. Thrusts from her hand were echoed with a matching thrust from her hips. They rocked like that, pressing and desperate until Anne felt the tell tale clutch deep inside her wife. She continued her ministrations as Ann peaked, gushing between her twined fingers. She held her wife close through her orgasm and then moved to press her own hand between her legs. It was over for her soon after, and they held each other in trembling ecstasy for one lovely moment. 

Too soon, Anne grew business like again. She wiped her fingers on the soiled hem of her nightdress and turned to the bedside table. She sat up and jotted a note in the little book she kept there. Her shoulder was turned away from Ann, her face shadowed and hidden. When Ann reached for her shoulder, she first started away a little, then forced herself to relax. Ann’s concern was plain on her face. The shift in mood from amorous to cold was jarring to them both. 

“I’m not used to…” Anne said, words tumbling out all at once “sharing everything like that. I’ve had a somewhat solitary life by necessity. I’m used to taking care of myself...in many ways. I shouldn’t have shouted at you when you found this book. I nearly forgot I had it. It didn’t seem right to use the chaumerie like that after we had been there together. It’s a relic from another time in my life. But it’s mine. I know I should want to share everything with you but I find…” 

“Keep your book then. And your secrets.” Ann snapped. “Here in our bed I’d just like to have a little of you, if it isn’t too much trouble.” She regretted her words as soon as they left her mouth. “Oh, I didn’t mean-“

Anne’s voice trembled as she responded, though her face was impassive and cold.  
“I’m very stingy with you it seems. How can you stand it?” 

“I won’t apologize,” began Ann, “for wanting you. I will apologize for prying. You’re allowed to have secrets, even from me. I need to remember that and not press you so. Maybe you take this troublesome little book back to the chaumiere and we forget about the whole thing.”

Anne hunched her shoulders, folding in on herself. “Only give me a little time.” She said in a vulnerable voice. “Please.”

Ann wrapped her wife in her arms and held her tight. “All the time you need. I love you.” She pressed Anne’s head into her shoulder and kissed her dark hair.


End file.
